


In Flowers

by Ballades



Series: Questionable Chemistry [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bonus Content, F/M, NSFW, Smut, different uses for wine, in vigils deleted scenes, kind of PWP, okay and maybe a bit of fluff, tantric sex kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 00:39:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3309233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ballades/pseuds/Ballades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Commander takes Inquisitor under the stars, among the blooms.</p><p>He makes sure it's a night to remember.</p><p>(This is a deleted scene from <i>In Vigils</i>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> This is bonus content for [In Vigils](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3151289/chapters/6838949); it makes the most sense to read that first, though this can stand alone. This takes place between chapters 16 and 17.
> 
> TOTALLY NSFW. This is smut. All the smut everywhere everytime everyplace. Enjoy yourselves, because I sure did.

Hoofbeats, distant but coming closer, sound faintly in the grass.  A single rider approaches; Aeveth, barefoot, feels the telltale vibrations in the ground of her sanctuary.  She stands and puts her hands on her hips, surveys her work for a minute, then sighs, a good long sigh born of an afternoon of hard, honest work, and wipes her forehead with her wrist.  The sun is beginning to slide down behind the mountains, and the day’s earlier heat is fading, ushered out by a cooling wind.

Her mare lifts her head and whickers out a greeting.  Aeveth hears Cullen’s murmured  _whoa_  followed by the thump of his boots as he dismounts.  She listens for the quiet leather slaps of tack being undone, the slide and clink of the saddle and girth strap and blanket as all are removed.

She turns to watch him, plucking a bell of crystal grace and holding it to her nose before sticking her tongue out to collect the drop of nectar inside.  Aeveth nibbles at the petals as Cullen approaches, saddle and pack in his hands.  The flower itself is citrusy, nothing like the nectar, which is sweet and light, like honeyed water.

“I didn’t know you could eat that,” Cullen says to her, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before setting his things down.

Aeveth nods at him.  “It’s possible, though it isn’t very filling.  I hope you’ve brought food, I’m starving.  I’ve barely eaten.”

“Food  _and_  wine.  Dorian’s suggestion, some Antivan white.”  He pulls a long-necked bottle out of his pack, along with two cups and a large, tightly-wrapped bundle.  Cullen’s expression tells her all she needs to know regarding his opinions on white wine.

“Wine?”  Aeveth tosses the remains of the flower onto a pile of dead plants and grass clippings by her feet.  “You spoil me, Cullen.”

“Only because you’ve set the bar far too low.”  It’s true; Aeveth doesn’t gift herself with presents, doesn’t seek out finery or embellishment, doesn’t ask for anything a person won’t give.  “I wouldn’t consider this spoiling at all.”

Even so, she’s uncomfortable with it.  “I’m glad you finally made it,” she says, changing topics.

His eyes are warm as he looks at her.  “Forgive me for taking so long to get here, but yes.  I was out most of the day, and only saw your note around mid-afternoon.”  He gazes at the sanctuary with its flowers in full bloom, embrium and crystal grace swaying as a breeze passes by.  “You’ve been hard at work, I see.”

Aeveth looks at her hands.  They’re grimy from an entire afternoon spent digging, the crescents of her nails rimed with dirt, microscopic particles of it making her fingerprints stand out in dark whorls.  “I hope it’s to your liking,” she says.  She goes over to the hammock, picks up the waterskin that’s leaning against the trunk of the tree, and carefully pours it over her hands, scraping around her nails as she does so.

Cullen sounds genuinely surprised.  “Why would it be to my liking?  This place is yours.”  He walks over, the wrapped packet tucked under one arm, holding the bottle and cups in one hand.  He takes a seat in the hammock next to her, hip to shoulder, wipes dirt away from her cheekbone with his thumb.

“Well, I thought perhaps I’d add some new touches for you.  Since you’re here often enough.”  Aeveth switches, pouring water over the fingers of her right hand.

He sighs softly.  “No, don’t trouble yourself.”  Cullen waits until she’s shaken the water from her hands, then gives her the wine to pour.  “Not much for me, please,” he says, picking apart the knot that holds the package together.

She pours three times the amount for herself that she gives him, then studies the liquid in the cup for a second.  Aeveth purses her lips, shrugs, and drinks.  “Oh,” she says, surprised.  “This is really lovely.  Dorian’s choice, you said?”

Cullen nods, focused on the food.  “I asked him for something you’d like.”

“It’s wondrous.  I’ll have to give him my thanks.”

They eat in silence, leaning against each other.  Aeveth drinks, finds her cup empty, pours herself some more.  It isn’t long before the golden warmth of the wine is working its way from her stomach out to the rest of her.  She empties her cup a second time, gives herself a third pour, ignoring Cullen’s raised eyebrows.

“Cullen, what if Dorian decided to grow his own grapes?”

“Hmm?  Like having his own vineyard, you mean?  Where would  _that_  go in Skyhold?”

“You’re so practical that it hurts, Cullen.  No, think about it - if Dorian were to make his own vintage, then he’d be - he’d be a vintner.  A Tevinter  _Tevintner_.”  She cackles at her own joke.  “Get it?”  Aeveth giggles, feeling the effects of the wine.  Aeveth takes another sip anyway, giggles again.

“I think perhaps you’ve had too much of this,” Cullen says, reaching out to take the cup, prying her fingers off it.

Aeveth grins.  She loves him, she really does, she’s so in love with Cullen, there’s a great big warm feeling in her tummy and she’s just overflowing with love for him.  Maker, he’s so gorgeous.  He’s the best, he brought her wine.  “Not at all,” she tells him.  “Not enough!”  She giggles some more.

“Aeveth.”  Cullen leans away from her, upsets the balance of the hammock, sets her cup in the grass beneath it.  “Don’t take your cues from Dorian.  I want you with all your faculties intact.”

“Oh, you can  _have_  my faculties,” she tells him, draping herself over him, looking earnestly into his eyes.  She puts a hand to her mouth, titters into it.  “All of them, any time.”

Cullen chuckles quietly; she feels it vibrating in his chest.  “I’ll keep that in mind.  But no more wine for you tonight.”

She sighs.  “Cullen, you don’t have to be so serious all the time.”

“I’m not,” he protests gently.

“Yes, you are.  Look at how serious you are right now.  We’re having a serious moment.  Very serious.”

“With reason.”  He shifts, feathers a kiss across her lips.  “I want your mind to be completely clear.  I want you to remember everything I’m going to do to you.”

Just like that.  Just like that, Cullen changes everything, turns things upside down, takes it from casual and relaxed to charged and sexy.  Aeveth’s eyes widen.  “Oh,” she says.  “I’d um… I’d better work on getting sober.”

Cullen kisses her again.  “Let me help you pass the time.”

* * *

He lays her down among the flowers when the last glow of the sun fades behind the mountains.  Cullen lays her down, kisses her until the stars come out, slides his hand underneath her tunic, traces a constellation from hip to breast and over her belly.  Aeveth thrills to his touch, sighing between kisses, pressing herself closer to him as his hand finds a new path, fingers slipping beneath her breastband, following the course of the imprinted skin from her sternum, around her ribs, to her back.

“Off,” Cullen says to her, taking her bottom lip gently between his teeth, following it with a kiss.

Aeveth cannot get out of her clothes fast enough.  She shucks off her tunic, yanks at her breastband, peels herself out of her leggings and smalls for good measure.  Cullen laughs at her enthusiasm, pulling his shirt over his head, clasping her body to his when her skin is bared.  He catches her under her jaw with a kiss; she cants her head away, allowing him access to her neck, stretching up and over the arm he has around her.

Cullen makes a noise of appreciation as he kisses her, kisses down her neck and over to her shoulder, back along her collarbone to the dip in the center.  He inhales deeply then, sighs, continues on his way, trailing kisses over to her other shoulder, dragging the tip of his tongue up her neck, over to the sensitive spot right over her pulse.  Aeveth moans then, her skin tightening into goosebumps, desire a delicious flutter between her legs.  Cullen lets his lips rest against her skin, breathing out delicately.  “ _Ahh_ ,” she responds, shivers running up and down her spine, electric sparks forking out, expanding over her back.  Cullen’s breath caresses her skin again and Aeveth sighs, eyes closing, feeling heat rise.  It’s as if Cullen is breathing fire straight into her blood, igniting everything inside her, fanning the flames of her need.

He releases her and she settles onto the blanket, facing him, her legs folded.  Cullen kneels in front of her and gets his hands in her hair, pulling his fingers through its length gently.  Aeveth’s eyes close and she tilts her head back, enjoying the feel of his nails against her scalp, combing back, over and over.  She feels Cullen’s body draw close, and his lips touch the very center of her forehead in a tender kiss.

She opens her eyes, finds his, gazes into them for a long moment, keeping still.  Cullen offers her a slightly lopsided smile; the right side of his mouth always moves differently because of his scar, and Aeveth is taken by a compulsion to kiss it, kiss his nose, his cheeks, his eyelids.  She leans forward, but Cullen’s hands tighten suddenly in her hair, forcing her to a halt.

“Hold onto my shoulders,” he tells her.

Aeveth does, and Cullen pulls down on her hair, drawing her head back.  Aeveth goes with it, trusting him, stretches into it, wanting to show him how supple and flexible she is.  Cullen places another of those strangely soft kisses at the base of her throat, breathes on it, and somehow she feels relaxed through it, tension beginning to drain from her.  Cullen pulls a bit harder, bending her back further, bringing her far enough over that she can feel the ends of her hair touching the tops of her hipbones.

Aeveth’s eyes are open now, her lips parted around quickening breaths as Cullen kisses her right between her breasts.  She whimpers, her fingers digging into his shoulders to keep from falling over, her body bent back taut, held there firmly by him.  Aeveth pants, straddling the divide between the pleasure given through Cullen’s hands fisted tight in her hair and the splendid strain of being bent back almost double.  Aeveth feels it in her stomach muscles, that delectable needling of a stretch being held, feels it in her back as a hard, unyielding point.

Her breaths begin to grow uneven as Cullen’s lips touch her nipple.  His mouth closes upon her, tongue sweeping in circles over and around.  Aeveth  _whines_ , a sound that grows more desperate as it presses out of her, grows louder as Cullen responds only through action.  “Please,” she whispers when he switches to her other breast.  She doesn’t know what she’s asking for, only that she  _wants_ , wants and needs.  “Please, Cullen…”

“All right,” he says, and she can feel his smile against her.  “Let go, love.”

She does, falling back, and Cullen catches her easily, hands coming loose from her hair, guiding her back down to the earth.  Briefly, he bows his head, kisses her on her stomach, and at the touch Aeveth exhales, relaxes, lets the middle of her back rest against the blanket.  She reaches out, cups his face, smiles at him, his golden hair outlined with starlight, head and shoulders silhouetted against the sprawling, glittering mantle of the night sky.  Cullen smiles back, dips his head down, and brushes his lips oh so lightly against the skin of her lower abdomen, beneath her navel.  A tremor shakes her, and Cullen’s smile is all too knowing as he touches his tongue to her and and makes her shudder again.

“Mm,” he murmurs, and presses a kiss to her hip.  “Your pardon.  A moment, my darling.”

Aeveth makes a wretched noise as he gets to his feet, his warmth leaving her.  She is wound up now, body open and ready.  He  _cannot_  walk away.  ”Cullen, please!”  She pushes herself up into a sitting position, puts a hand to her face.  “Cullen?”

He goes to the hammock, picks up her cup, half-full of wine.  He doesn’t drink, but returns swiftly, kneels, and sets the cup down, close at hand.  Bewildered, Aeveth looks at him, watches as he dips his forefinger into the wine.

Cullen traces her lips, the wine a cool wetness on them, then kisses her, his lips velvety and sweet on hers.  His mouth, pressed to hers, opens hers slowly like the unfurling of a rose in the morning, opens her until he can slip his tongue into her mouth to meet hers.  Everything, this kiss is  _everything_ , and Aeveth exults in him, her heart in her throat.  She yields to him, gives herself up, drops her boundaries and lets Cullen’s taste and breath and touch infuse her.  She attunes herself to him and him alone, adheres her skin to his and prays to any god who will listen for her to keep this wholeness, found in a perfect kiss.

By the time they pull apart Aeveth’s will is gone.  Anything, she’ll do anything for him as long as he keeps kissing her, keeps fingers and palms in contact with her.  He lays her down again, and his hands are like comets, hot, trailing brightness behind them as they roam over her.  Cullen watches her arch and sigh and moan, propped up on his elbow beside her, his golden eyes intense as they take her in.  “Mine,” he growls softly, “mine, you’re mine.  Like this, you’re mine.”

“Yes,” Aeveth agrees, half delirious, “yes, yours Cullen, only yours.”  His mouth descends on her breast, tongue swirling around her nipple.  She gasps, hands coming up, threading fingers through his hair, arching again, pushing her breast against him.  She can feel his tongue against her but the motions also fans the heat between her legs, causes pressure to start building, making her desire spike higher.

Cullen’s moan is muffled in her flesh; he laps at her, pushes his tongue broadly against her, closes his mouth around her and sucks.  Aeveth wails, a reedy sound, wails louder when Cullen’s finger finds her clit and begins circling it, mirroring his tongue.  She is so sensitive and ready that she comes in less than a minute, the strength of it taking her by surprise.  One second, Aeveth is panting, her pleasure running along a plateau; the next, she’s hit the high point and she’s crying out, breaths razor-sharp, cutting through the air in a series of high-pitched whines.  Cullen groans then, his mouth leaving her breast wetly.  He’s probably looking at her, Aeveth doesn’t know, doesn’t care, because he sweeps his fingers into her, gathering her slick, smoothing it over her, takes her clit between thumb and forefinger and rolls it slowly, gently.

Aeveth screams, actually screams, does so in such a way that anyone within earshot would know unmistakably what is happening.  Her body convulses under his touch, so light, so ridiculously, unbelievably light, so unbelievably powerful.  If she wanted to she could break from the contact but Cullen has his hand around the center of her and she is being carried along a pleasurable wave of titanic proportions.  She thrashes, gasps desperately for breaths that won’t stay in her, keens and sobs and moans to the minute, masterful movements of Cullen’s fingers.

He watches her, gauges her reactions, brings her back down little by little.  Aeveth lies boneless for a while, eyes blank from her orgasm, and stares up the stars, twinkling pinpricks in the sky, pinpricks like the ones she’s feeling in her fingers and toes.  Cullen lies down beside her, throws an arm over her, kisses her ear.  “Whenever you’re ready,” he says, voice husky.

“What…?” Aeveth says incredulously.  “No, Cullen, what about you?”

“Not yet,” he says, closing his eyes, breathing deep.  “No, love, not yet.  Let me be, for now.  If I even think… No.”  Aeveth can see him summoning up his willpower, that rigid, iron thing that so amazes her about him.  He is focused, intent on her, his will bent only to her pleasure, her desires.

Aeveth swallows, fights back the urge to touch him, test how hard he is by taking him in her hand.  What he’s offering her is a gift, and she means not to ruin it.  

Her next words are a whisper.  “I’m ready, Cullen.”

He smiles at her, lifts his arm slightly, dips two fingers back into the winecup that she’s completely forgotten about.  A drop of wine falls onto her skin; Cullen _tsks_  at the waste, right before he touches his fingers to the center of her chest, draws them down in a straight line.  Aeveth watches him, eyes wide, body and breath tremulous, because if he’s going to do what she thinks he’s going to do she might just fall to pieces from how incredibly arousing it’s going to be.

Cullen dips his fingers back into the cup.  He kisses her lovingly then, capturing her mouth with his, and his fingertips brush her throat, pulling long strokes down it.  Cullen paints her like a canvas, fingers dragging long, fiery brushstrokes across her skin, paints arcs and curves over her stomach, circles around her breasts.  Aeveth tries to hold still but she can’t, and soon she’s moving with his hands, aching for his touch, dissatisfied with what he’s giving her.

The bouquet of the wine rises off her, mingling with her scent.  Cullen pauses, puts his lips against the bottom of her ear, inhales.  “Oh!” he exclaims, and his voice is that of wonder and surprise.  “You’re divine, my love,” he rasps, more air than anything else.

A drop of wine collects on her shoulder, begins to roll off.  Cullen gives her a smoldering look, lowers his head.

He catches it on his tongue, flicks it into his mouth.

Aeveth’s entire body sparks, bursts into flame.  Maker, sweet, fucking  _Maker_ , she is on  _fire_ , she is burning in a way only Cullen can quench, she is a bolt of lightning that only he can ground.  Cullen’s tongue is on her skin now, retracing the strokes of his fingers, seeking the sweet paths he’s laid along her body.  Aeveth is writhing, sinuous beneath his tongue; her mind is gone, so far gone, there is only one thought in it and it’s Cullen, Cullen’s tongue on her neck, her throat, Cullen’s tongue on her breasts and stomach and lower still, Cullen’s tongue tracing her hipbones and the crease of her groin, Cullen,  _Cullen_  -

He parts her legs then, reveals her, groans loudly, stops to collect himself.  Finally,  _finally_ , he gets his boots off, undoes his laces, pulls his breeches down and kicks them away.  Aeveth can only watch him.  She is paralyzed with how much she needs him, how much she’s longing for him to be inside her, holding her, rocking hard into her.  She reaches for him but he pushes her hands away, goes for the winecup and knocks it over, swears quietly but collects a bead of wine, dabs it on her clit.

A soft kiss, placed between her legs.  A breath, a puff of air, over the same spot.

Cullen seals his mouth against her, and Aeveth’s voice shivers out of her,  _loud_ , spiraling into the night, up into the heavens, to the stars.  She is desire, she is _need_ , she is lust made manifest in an undulating, serpentine wave.  Cullen licks her, laps at her, makes circles, uses his tongue broadly against her; he is vocalizing now too, their cries twining together in the still summer night.

Her orgasm this time is profoundly different than the last.  Aeveth has no idea how Cullen’s managed to do it, but it starts in her before she even realizes what it is, slow waves of pleasure sweeping up her body, pulling at her like a shallow sea.  She feels herself shuddering, knows that she is climaxing, can hear her breaths grow longer and sharper, hear her voice being wrung out of her to the rhythm of his tongue.

Aeveth’s hands slip down, cup the sides of his face.  In her haze she doesn’t understand how much the gesture breaks Cullen, shatters his will.  She only knows that she needs him  _here_ , now, inside her, over her, joined to her.  Cullen wrenches his mouth away from her with a groan, pulls himself up her body, and in a single thrust of his hips he pushes into her, parting her with breathless exquisiteness.  Aeveth gasps; Cullen moans hotly into her ear; she presses her hips up against his and feels him reach that place inside her that feels like home.  Oh, this,  _this_ , they are one, a single cosmic being.  When Cullen moves in her she moves too; when he growls it is her body which vibrates; where their skins touch there is no barrier, only light and energy and heat shared between them, flowing freely.

Time slows.  Above them, stars wheel in the sky.  Aeveth’s strange, wonderful orgasm rolls on, ripples through her, causes Cullen to moan higher, louder, makes his hips stroke into her faster.  She can feel something like the heavy pull of the ocean before a giant wave; she holds her breath in anticipation of Cullen’s climax.  When he comes it’s a beautiful thing: his hips rock hard against hers in shallow thrusts, grinding her into the ground; he fills her with himself, stretches her with it, adds himself to her, enhances her.  Aeveth breathes hard and an urgent, primal moan comes out of her, presses and fights out of her low, animal places.  Cullen shouts hoarsely in response, burying his face in her neck, pulsing strong into her, and they are swept away together marvelously, tremendously.

When the last twitches and eddies have left them, Aeveth lies with Cullen still inside her, feels his sated heaviness settling on her, over her.  She is all blissful smiles and laughter, delighted laughter at the precious experience he’s just given her.  “My love,” she murmurs, lifting a hand, tracing fingers along his sweat-soaked hair.  “Cullen, my love, I love you.”

His eyes open, dark amber in the night, and they both know he doesn’t need to say anything for her to know how he feels.  Carefully, Cullen pulls himself out and away; with a grunt, he collapses next to her.  Aeveth turns to him, kisses his chin, slips an arm over him, merges their skins, seeking his warmth.

She can feel Cullen’s smile.  They doze, and the moon rises.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always, always loved and appreciated. I do my best to reply to all!


End file.
